


Phoenix

by cipherninethousand



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13563654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cipherninethousand/pseuds/cipherninethousand
Summary: In the time since Senator Amidala's death, her faithful handmaidens have scattered to the winds.  Despite doing no wrong, someone has begun to hunt Sabé and her sisters, forcing her to flee Naboo.  There is something deeper here, something that wants all traces of hope gone.  She won't let them take her.





	1. Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Bail Organa is great, but he didn't start the rebellion alone. I wanted so badly for Padmé's handmaidens to have a greater part in the rebellion. They are covert agents and bodyguards, why wouldn't they?

In the month since Padmé died, her handmaidens have scattered. Rabé, to parts unknown, as has Eirtaé, and Dormé to family on Onderon. Ellé and Moteé remained briefly - long enough to leave active duty - before they had returned to Coruscant, storing Amidala’s belongings to make way for Naboo’s next Senator.

Only Sabé remained on Naboo.

It's the way of handmaidens, once their duty is done, yet the ache lingers. Each will mourn Padmé in their own way.

Twice per week, Sabé goes to light the braziers in Padmé’s tomb, picking her way through the myriad of offerings. It’s a routine. Comforting, calming in the chaos and the rise of this new Empire. Wipe dust from the stained glass. Place fresh lake lilies on the sarcophagus. Empty the braziers, and place fresh incense.

When finished Sabé clears out the old offerings - flowers, incense, candles, and food, disposing of the things used up or rotten. Queen Apailana had sent a note. There are caretakers paid by the crown, but Sabé had insisted. When they had tried to come early, she had come earlier still, and the mausoleum is spotless. So they had relented to her, letting this handmaiden in mourning dark (1) care for the Senator’s grave. She spends many quiet hours there. Cleaning. Watching. Protecting Senator Amidala in death, as she had in life.

She remains for an hour after to write.

Sabé had kept a journal long before – quietly and secretly – the entire time that she had served Padmé, even though she wasn't supposed to. It was the first thing handmaidens are taught. _Keep your sovereign’s secrets_. Handmaidens must not divulge them, even by accident.

Back then, her entries were lighter. Brighter. Swept up in the ideal of serving a Queen (a brilliant one), an achievement which she had worked for her entire life.

Then, the first entry began: _My heart is full. I have a Queen to serve, her guidance to follow. She is a girl far wiser than her years, dark of hair and eye like me._

But now...

She began a new book. Sabé can't bring herself to keep writing in the old one. It goes in a drawer, pulled out when she cannot bear to go on. Amidst tears, old and aching and this new void, which she is expected to navigate without a compass, she writes.

 

_My heart is empty. I have been cast adrift in the stars, with no moorings, no compass to guide me. My Senator, my Sovereign, is dead, along with her child. Her cause is gone. The Republic she fought for is in shambles, but...no. That is incorrect. This is no longer the Republic that my dearest Lady fought for. It is an Empire, formed beneath the boot of a man she called friend._

_I recognize the Chancellor no more. He would blame the Jedi – cast them out as her death has thrown me – but there is something sick and wicked which goes beyond that. I cannot let it stand. As he tightens his grasp, I will make certain that as many as possible know of her legacy. Liberty must be restored._

_It is my duty now that she is gone._

 

Sabé Ajeri, written circa 19 BBY

 

-...-

Imperial Naboo has lost its luster, though its bustle hasn’t ceased. There are as many people (tourists, politicians) as ever, seeking out some blessing from the Emperor’s birthplace. Perhaps it’s knowledge they seek, or an edge against Palpatine. Still, it's duller, colors and life dimmed.

Sabé can still recall the last time she saw Palpatine on Coruscant.

His withered face had screamed anger. She’ll never forget the fear when his yellow eyes landed on her, the shiver that raced down her spine.

But she forces it from her mind.

There are steps behind her - more than just tourists’ strolling - these are deliberate. To their credit, she’d hardly noticed them as she left the mausoleum. They’d nearly blended into the rest of the people around her, steps ringing against cobbles, all very careful to linger _just_ out of sight.

All very nonchalant. Uninteresting, to the average person. Not to Sabé.

And she has to give this one his due – he's good – but ultimately, he brings her to a question.

Why would someone want her followed?

Mourning has become Sabé’s duty in the weeks since Amidala’s death. Unadorned indigo robes with white sash and without cosmetics, as is proper. No weapons since she is (technically) inactive. Well, that's a lie. A small, slender dagger is tucked into the lining of her sleeve, and a tiny holdout blaster sits in her pocket. Five shots. Still, it raises more questions as to why anyone would want her followed; it settles heavy on her heart

If someone would have her followed...what of the others?

She fears less for the later ones, but for those who were _always_ with Padmé, those who traveled to Coruscant, they are in danger. Dormé. Rabé. Eirtaé too. She does nothing yet. Perhaps it's old paranoia. Too many instincts, or a remnant of her vigilance on Coruscant.

She wouldn't be the first to be declared a danger.

 _Gods know she wouldn't be the first_.

But she feels something else. A deeper tug, low in her gut – something that she must watch. 

-...-

For a whole week, Sabé watches. She doesn’t change her routine - no sense in tipping off a spy. In the mornings, she rises early to practice her forms until her stomach nags for something to eat. When she leaves for the market, he slips in behind her. The man is careful to never approach her apartment, and he doesn't wear the same clothes – he even uses prosthetics to change the shape of his face. Just enough. He's not gotten closer all week. All the more concerning. Sabé continues to walk, steps even and measured, pretending that she can't now see the man's obnoxious hat. She'd nearly written him off as a stalker, some devotee of Padmé's, until she'd noticed that he'd never gone to the tomb. Not one gift for the departed. He only follows her.

She's had enough.

Pulling her hood low on her face, Sabé angles for a group of young ladies. To her fortune, she can see that their robes bear the crest of handmaidens – a group in training for the many Princesses who will campaign in the next election. All are in the same dark blue as she. It makes it easy to join them, then weave through them until she can step into a narrow alley between buildings.

Her follower's steps turn clumsy when he loses sight of her; Sabé can't quite contain a little smile for it.

Breathe in, wait. Breathe out, and in again until he passes the mouth of the alley, before she yanks him in with her, pinning him against one wall. The crack of his skull against the sandstone is enough to stun him, just long enough that Sabé can put him exactly where she wants him.

One hand at his throat. The dagger, resting against his flesh.

“What do you want?” She hisses.

To his credit the man looks afraid, his hands raised in surrender. Sabe asks again. “Why are you following me?!”  He shakes his head, desperate to get away.  Sabé digs her knife a little harder into his throat. "Liar!  You've followed me for weeks now."  All at once, the man's fear melts away.  He doesn't struggle, nor does he try to push Sabé away, but he shrugs. "Gotta keep an eye on the troublemakers."

“ _I mourn my Queen_. That is not against the law.”

He shrugs. ““If mourning is what you call it.”

Sabé could be better. She could be calmer. Take him to a more secluded place, question him. Taking him to the authorities would be better still. But she cannot. Sabé drags the man deeper into the alley.

For a third time she demands to know why he's following her, what he wants.

He says nothing more. 

-...- 

Even with blood on his face, the spy will not answer her questions. Hit and dragged to a safehouse and struck again, still he refuses. He spits out a tooth where Sabé had first struck him; there is blood on one of her sleeves. She checks his bindings again, then steps outside. She has to get to the Palace, to Queen Apailana. If they would chase an inactive handmaiden, there's no telling what they would do to the Queen.  She will not allow it.  Not again.

No guards stop her as she walks up the Palace steps. The Queen's handmaidens, however, are not oblivious to her fear. When a girl steps out from one of the marble columns, Sabé nearly draws her knife again. She's as unremarkable as any handmaiden, and yet the look she's giving Sabé leaves no doubt that she would defend her Sovereign to the death.

“Come with me, sister,” She says softly.

Sabé follows behind her, past the throne room and into a chamber just behind it – the Queen's dressing room. Apailana doesn't call to Sabé, or her handmaiden even as they pass behind Minister Bibble, standing before her. She raises a hand to pause the governor, then whispers to another handmaiden, who falls in behind Sabé. The first waves at a pair of short stools. She stares, hard until Sabé sits gingerly on the closest. Does the Queen know? Will she help?

She tenses as the Queen stands. Finishing her conversation, Apailana steps into her dressing room, the swish of her skirts like thunder in Sabé's ears. _I must trust the Queen._ And, as if realising that it’s out of her hands Sabé takes a deep breath. _Accept your fate_.

Apailana’s handmaiden cleans her hands. Gently. Careful of the broken skin. Desperate not to see condemnation in the Queen’s eyes, Sabé focuses on the handmaiden instead -- on the curl of red hair that’s slipped from beneath her cowl. “There,” the girl says. “Much better.”

“Ané,” Apailana says, “please escort Governor Bibble out. Ladies. Leave us, please.”

Ané stands, then bows. As she slips out to carry out her orders, Queen Apailana steps around to Sabé's front, and pulls a chair up next to her, mindful of her headdress. Sabé clenches her hands into fists in her sleeves. A few moments pass for the handmaidens to disperse. All the while Sabé focuses on the lines painted on Apailana’s face, avoiding her eyes. Amidala’s preference had been red over white. Apailana favors blue. The Queen tilts her head forward suddenly - jostling her headdress - but it remains firmly in place.

The door clicks shut. It may as well have been a bomb.

“I've heard many whispers about you.” Apailana murmurs.

Her voice is soft, though her eyes are hard when Sabé _finally_ looks at her.

“Some say you can’t let go of Senator Amidala, or that her death has broken you. I don’t remember it that way. Something troubles you, Sabé.” Apailana takes Sabé’s hands in hers. Her gaze softens, and it strikes Sabé just how young this Queen is. “Tell me what happened?”

She spins a quick tale for the Queen, so fast that she stumbles on the words. Her normal calm eludes her grasp and ome desperate, wild thing takes hold of her until she comes to the spy, terror rooted in her spine. Queen Apailana listens quietly throughout, squeezing Sabé’s hands gently.

“You have to tell me the truth. Did you kill him?”

“...no, Your Majesty.”

Apailana breathes a little sigh that’s not quite relief. “I have a few more questions.” The little Queen nods. To reassure herself, or maybe Sabé. “Did anyone see you with him? Guards? Handmaidens? Stormtroopers?”

“No one saw me hit him. I was able to pass him off as drunk until I hid him away.”

She tells her which safehouse - the apartment near the waterfalls - with so many tourists that a single stumbling man will not draw questions. Apailana squeezes her hands once more, before she stands suddenly. She paces the dressing room in long strides, to the windows on the west, then the door, to make sure it’s locked, and back to Sabé where she circles her, thinking.

“This is...you have to understand I have no wish to do this.”

“Majesty?”

The fear that had faded returns, crawling up her throat. The windows. She can run there. Break them, and flee Theed. There are favors she can call in to get off world.

“ --send you away. At least until this spy is dealt with.”

“Majesty?” She repeats.

Apailana's facade crumbles; it's enough to make Sabé reach for her, her training taking over. To comfort her. It's yet another reminder of just how young the Queen is. How can she _do_ this to someone so young? Even so the little Queen composes herself, breathing deep until she can control the tears gathered on her lashes.

“You must leave Naboo, at least for now. Captain Panaka, you remember him?”

“Our governor.”

“Our governor, who's utterly loyal to the Emperor.”

“Your Majesty -- “ Sabé begins, “Wouldn't that make him more suspicous?”

Apailana shakes her head. “My handmaidens will take care of our little...problem, and in the meantime you will leave Naboo. I promise you, we will make it safe for you to come home.”

If someone had asked her later, she would say that it was the Force. Now, however, Sabé can't explain the sudden vision that takes over.

_There's a house, old and covered in vines emerging from the blur. Soon the picture widens to a woman with Sabé's face, but older than she is now, sweeping leaves from the walkway. Two more people stand hesitantly at the old gate. One is a girl dark of hair and eye and the other, a boy of the same age with sandy blond hair._

_They smile when she notices them. It's Padmé's smile._

And just like that Sabé is jerked back to the present, where Queen Apailana is watching her with no small amount of fear. Something whispers to her.  
  
“How long, Your Majesty?”

Apailana sags again, this time with true relief, and she smiles as she helps Sabé up. “You have three hours,” she says, “And I will send Ané to fetch you.”

 


	2. Author's Note - please read!

In the next few days, I will be reworking the first chapter of Phoenix and (hopefully) posting the second chapter. I've returned to college which is currently eating up most of my free time. If you have read and enjoyed Phoenix so far, I greatly appreciate it! I haven't decided if I will take it down or not while I'm reworking.

If Phoenix does come down, please understand that it is only temporary and it will return.

Thank you for being patient.

-Yuko

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Mourning dark is what I imagine mourning clothes to be on Naboo. Usually referring to navy blue, they can be any nearly any color so long as it is so dark as to nearly be black. They're meant to be unadorned and belted with a plain white sash.


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